A Touch of Magic
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: Based on the song, Christmas is the Time to Say I Love You. Post-TFP. Sherlock and Molly have been walking on eggshells since the phone call despite knowing how the other feels. They decide that for once, they would risk it all for each other. Life is too short after all.
1. Reflections

Sherlock had lost himself in his mind palace for hours. Things had been…complicated since Sherrinford. It was strange knowing how Molly felt about him but maintaining a friendship. What was even stranger was that she knew how he felt about her. Despite the fact they were in love with one another, neither made a move to do anything about it. They hadn't said those three words since the phone call—it was just mutually understood.

_How boring._

He glanced at the calendar, noticing that Christmas was only a week away. Sherlock wanted to do something special for Molly, but he was afraid of upsetting the balance. Their friendship, he felt, was only hanging by a thread. They hadn't even spoken much outside of cases. On top of everything, though he knew she loved him, Sherlock felt she deserved better. Why did she have to fall for him all those years ago? Why did her feelings grow rather than fade? So many questions posed to himself.

The first Christmas they had spent together was a disaster. It was the cruelest he had ever been to her, and it was only because he was jealous. Of course, he felt stupid that he hadn't deduced the gift was for him. The crimson package had been left unopened in his sock drawer. Sherlock would find himself wondering what it was—normally, he could deduce what resided within a gift, but this one provided an endless mystery. Perhaps that was why he never opened it.

He had felt so guilty, seeing the pain in her eyes. His scathing deductions had embarrassed her greatly, but Molly—his wonderful Molly—stood her ground. It should have been obvious then, what he knew now: she was resilient. Molly Hooper was the strongest woman he knew. And God, did he admire her for it. Sherlock wanted to kiss her, but his nerves had kept him from her lips, instead landing on her cheek. The first stirrings of his love for her began only a bit before then.

When he returned to London two years after his fall, it was November. Spending the day solving cases with Molly was an experience he wished could have lasted forever. When she first suggested having dinner, it threw him for a loop—surely, after two years, she had got on with her life just as John had. Since that didn't seem to be the case, he asked her out for chips as they left Shilcott's place. He so desperately wanted her to say yes, but she never did answer him.

Going on to explain to her how she mattered the most and how thankful he was for her help, he noticed the reason why she had been hiding her left hand. A ring encircled her finger, taunting him. If she was engaged, why did she suggest having dinner? Needless to say, he was confused. Molly wasn't the type to be unfaithful, so perhaps she was testing the waters. If he had been upfront with her, would she have thrown her fiancé over for him? Possibly. It all came down to the fact that Sherlock believed she deserved better than what he could give her.

Once again, he had had the opportunity to snog her properly, and what did he do? Kissed her on the bloody cheek again, though it was much closer to her lips than last time. Sherlock had been so tempted to throw caution to the wind and show her how he felt. He would have, but there was one thing stopping him: Sherlock could never—would never—be selfish with Molly. He couldn't allow it. It was true, he wanted her to be happy, and she had a better shot at that happiness with someone that wasn't him. What he did allow, however, was giving her a gift that Christmas. It was the most sentimental thing he had done…

* * *

Molly was cleaning out her things, feeling the need for a fresh start. She had been digging around her jewelry box when a small pink gift box fell out. Having forgotten what resided within it, she removed the lid, revealing a silver charm bracelet. There was only one charm on it: a circular silver pendant. Engraved on it were the words that continued to stick in her mind.

_You've Always Counted._

Three words. How powerful a combination of only three words could be. _I am sorry, you've always counted, I love you._ She had been walking on eggshells around him since Sherrinford, too afraid she could ruin what remained of their friendship. Of course she knew he loved her, but what did that mean to him? Strengthening her resolve, Molly decided she was going to find out for herself.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This was written for my best friend in the Sherlolly fandom, Kathi (manus-multae-cor-unum on tumblr). It won't be a long fic, possibly 3 chapters! I hope y'all enjoy too!


	2. Snow is Fallin'

Friday evening, after her shift, Molly took a cab straight to Baker Street. She peered out the window at the falling snow covering the ground in a blanket of white. It wasn't long before she arrived at 221B. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder before stepping out and paying the cabbie. Down the street, she heard carolers singing an impressive rendition of Carol of the Bells. Looking up toward his windows decorated with fairy lights then back at the door, Molly took a deep breath.

_You can do this._

The moment she opened the door, a beautiful melody drifted through the air. She climbed the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky spots. The door was left ajar. Molly hesitated as she peeked inside to find Sherlock lost in the music he was playing. An involuntary gasp left her mouth, interrupting his concentration.

"I'm not taking clients to—" Sherlock stopped short when his eyes landed on her. "Molly." He set down his Stradivarius to greet her. "I didn't expect to see you."

Molly lingered in the doorway, her nerves getting the better of her. "I was hoping we could talk, but you seem pretty busy, so—"

"Nonsense," he smiled. "Please, come in, get warm." Sherlock helped slip off her coat and shut the door behind her. He then headed toward the kitchen, as Molly sat down on the sofa. "Tea?"

"If it's not any trouble," Molly replied. To say she was anxious was an understatement. She hadn't a clue why she was so hesitant now. It was obvious that he cared for her—that he loved her. When he returned, he handed her a steaming cup of earl grey, sitting down beside her.

Sherlock took notice of Molly's nervous demeanor, which clued him in on the seriousness of the conversation. Whatever they would be talking about was more than likely going to change things between them. The question was would it be for the worse or the better? How could he calm her?

Molly sipped tentatively at her tea, the warm liquid clearing her head. She turned towards him, setting the cup down on the table. "Do you remember what you told me that night? When you came to see me?"

That…wasn't quite what he expected. "That you never have to feel alone again," Sherlock recalled. "And I apologised profusely for the hell I put you through."

"Did you mean it? Really mean it? Because what I want to talk about may send you running. I need to be sure you won't just leave me in the dark." The fear in Molly's eyes took him by surprise. She was truly afraid of losing him. Didn't she know he could never leave her?

"Molly," he spoke softly, taking her hands in his, "I would never abandon you. There is nothing you could say that would convince me to leave your side."

His words took the edge off, she had to admit. His eyes bore into hers with such sincerity. The moment she began to open her mouth, his mobile rang.

"You can get it," Molly told him, thankful for the reprieve. Sherlock appeared hesitant, but ended up picking up the phone.

"Myc—Mummy?" he answered in surprise. "Ah, yes, it…slipped my mind." Though it seemed to be bad timing at first, Sherlock felt he should take this opportunity. He held his index finger up in a gesture of 'wait here' whilst he took the call in his bedroom.

Once in his bedroom, Sherlock felt this would be the best time to get the advice he wish he had. "We'll just switch the days around, that's all. You and dad stay with Mycroft tonight, and tomorrow you'll stay with me."

"Well, you see, dear, it may be impossible at the moment. We're already at Mikey's place, but have you not looked out your window lately?" Mrs. Holmes asked him.

"Sherlock!" Molly called out to him. He poked his head out from behind his door. "What is it, Molly?"

"A snowstorm," she replied, gesturing towards the window. Sure enough, the snow was coming down hard, accompanied by hail. It was accumulating at an alarming rate.

"Sherlock?" his mother asked. "Do you have a woman there? Is it that lovely girl who helped save you? I must meet her some—"

"A moment, Mummy," Sherlock spoke quietly. "Molly, I'll be right with you." He shut himself up in his bedroom once more. "Is dad there?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, did you want to speak with him?" she asked.

"Please," Sherlock replied.

"Alright, but this conversation about Molly isn't over," his mum told him.

"Noted." Sherlock waited for her to hand off the phone to his father.

"Sherlock, is everything alright?" Siger Holmes asked his son. "Your mother's going on about a miracle."

Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle at his mother's antics. "I need some advice. I find myself in a situation with one of my best friends. She's, ah—well, needless to say she is snowed in with me now, but I'm not sure how to proceed."

"Proceed? Don't you have house-guests regularly what with clients and such?" his father asked, a bit confused.

"It's not about that," Sherlock said quickly. "I have found it difficult to remain only friends with her. It's—unsettling. Whilst I would rather stay friends than lose her, I would much prefer if we were more. I'm not sure how to go about telling her. How did you tell mum? Weren't the two of you friends first?"

"We were, yes, and only a bit younger than you are now," his father told him. "Your mother and I, though we started off as friends, we both knew there was much more beneath the surface. After three years, we began going steady, and married another three years after that."

"Yes, but how did you tell her you wanted more?" Sherlock asked, a bit impatiently.

"I didn't," his father confessed. "Your mum with that brain of hers could have furthered her career, but she gave it all up for a marriage and children."

"Are you saying it was mum who told you?" Sherlock was surprised. He had never known that.

"Headstrong, your mother was—still is," Siger remarked. "Out of the blue, she asked me when I planned to propose." He laughed fondly. "I must say I was taken by surprise. I, of course, didn't propose until a couple years after that."

Sherlock sighed. "What should I do?"

Siger considered this for a moment. "What you do, son, is you tell her you love her. Simple as that. How does she make you feel? Don't tell me, tell her. Words, though affirming, are not enough. You've got to _show_ her."

For once in his life, Sherlock understood how to proceed with a real romantic entanglement. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I believe there will be 2 more chapters, so stay tuned!


	3. Moonlight and Brandy

Molly was facing a dilemma. She was getting snowed in with Sherlock. If she were to have this conversation with him now, leaving her no escape, it probably wouldn't be the best time to do it. Before she had a chance to decide on how she wanted to proceed, Sherlock left his bedroom carrying a book in his hand. She took note of the way he smiled at her and the confidence he now exuded.

As Sherlock sat down, Molly gasped, recognizing the book immediately. It was a special illustrated edition of _The Princess Bride_ that she had gifted them all those years ago during that terrible Christmas party. "You actually opened it?"

"Of course I did," he replied. "Take a look for yourself."

Molly noticed hundreds of post-it tabs sticking out this way and that, proving the book was well-loved. Adding to that, as she flipped through, one single highlight caught her eye. It read, _I love you_. She looked back up at Sherlock, her eyes searching his. "You must have really loved this book." She actually laughed, albeit nervously.

"I did—still do. Though, I suppose it comes from not just enjoying the story, but the fact it was given to me by you." Sherlock realised how random all of this must seem to her. "What I'm trying to say is that I've loved you for quite some time, Molly. I was never fully aware of how much until…well, you know."

Her nerves had been calmed greatly by this revelation. Before, Molly had only been able to guess at what he feels for her, but hearing it said aloud changed the entire game. "I have always loved you, Sherlock," she smiled, caressing his name with her voice. "Always."

Sherlock's confidence wavered. "Why am I sensing a 'but?'" he asked, suddenly unsure of himself. "I'm not too late am I?"

"No!" Molly exclaimed. "You're not too late. I just—well, what I originally came here to ask you was what love meant to you. I know you're not used to allowing yourself to feel these emotions, so I'm asking for your point of view."

A lopsided smile gradually appeared on his face. Sherlock was definitely going to have fun with this. "Well, Miss Hooper, if you must know…"

Molly giggled at the formal use of her name.

"…Love means many things to me. It means that I care for you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "It means that I want you with me always." He then kissed her temple. "You've taught me that love—real love—is unconditional." Sherlock nuzzled her nose with his.

Her heart was beating more rapidly with every touch. Dear God, this man was going to be the death of her. _Well, Molls, at least you'll die happy_, she thought.

He ran his fingers down the side of her neck slowly. "It means that despite what I've been telling myself all these years, I know I was wrong." His thumb now traced the outline of her bottom lip. "Love isn't a weakness; it is a strength. I learned that from you as well."

"Somehow, Molly Hooper," Sherlock brushed her hair back with his fingers, now caressing her face in his hands, "You have taught me how to love." His colourful eyes bore into hers with such intensity. "And I love you, darling, very much."

Cradling her face in his hands, Sherlock leaned in, pressing a soft, uncertain kiss to her lips. He pulled back, pausing to monitor her reaction. Molly closed the gap between them once more, their mouths crashing in such a frenzied manner. It was as if they had been without water for days and were now replenishing themselves. She wanted so desperately to taste him, and oh God, his tongue was mingling with her own, burning her like whisky. She couldn't help but hum against his mouth, her hands reaching up to bury themselves in his curls.

Sherlock had never been so deliciously afraid in his life. He could think of nothing but Molly as he kissed her. His mind had shut down, and he found he didn't mind. It would reboot when he needed it. His hands traveled from her face, down to her waist, locking around her. He hadn't any clue how, but she was on his lap, pushing his tongue back into his mouth, and following it with her own. Molly had taken control, and it felt like falling. Wait, they actually were falling.

Toppling over on the sofa, Sherlock on his back and Molly lying on top of him, they laughed against each other's lips, soon breaking the kiss. "Sorry," Molly blushed.

Sherlock smiled, taking years off his face. "It's quite alright," he chuckled. "I rather like this position."

She laughed. "Cheeky git." Brushing his now-tousled curls back from his face, Molly pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you."

Before he could open his mouth to reply, everything went dark. The power had gone out.

* * *

By the time Sherlock found a torch and started a fire, Molly felt chilled. They could hear the hail bouncing off the windows, nothing but a deep blanket of snow covering the streets below. It was the quietest London had ever been. Sherlock led Molly to the chair opposite his, slipping the blanket off the back of it and wrapped it around her snugly.

"Care for a brandy?" he asked. "It's sure to warm you right up."

"I'd love one," she replied, grazing his hand affectionately as he passed by. The moon shone brightly in the sky, catching Molly's eyes. She found it funny how a freak snowstorm had descended upon London the day she finally decided to stop avoiding the topic that had plagued them for months. A touch of magic was in the air, forces unknown to them having brought them together and was now giving them uninterrupted time to enjoy themselves.

"For you." Sherlock's voice interrupted her thoughts. She took the glass from him, noticing he had his own, and had even brought the bottle with him. Sitting down in his own chair, he took a sip, his eyes watching the fire blaze to life. He then turned to Molly who was also watching the flames dance. The glow was lovely, lighting up her face in a way he had never seen her before. She had her chestnut locks swept over one shoulder. It looked as if she was in deep thought, possibly contemplating life's mysteries or—

"Wanna play Scrabble?" she asked, turning to him, her eyes capturing his.

Sherlock laughed in amusement. "Molly Hooper, you never cease to surprise me."

"Can't deduce my every move?" she teased, taking another sip of her brandy.

His spoke with sincerity. "Not always, no." He rose to his feet, setting aside his now empty glass. Sherlock approached her, cradling her cheek with his hand. "I'd like to keep it that way. It's no fun knowing your every move." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and set out to find Scrabble.

When he returned, Molly was sitting on the floor, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, pouring them both another glass of brandy. She bit her bottom lip in such a tantalizing manner when she looked up at him. This woman drove him wild, and she never had to resort to extremes to get his heart racing. "Ready to lose?"

"I never lose," he remarked, sitting down on the floor across from her.

"The game is on."

* * *

**Author's Note: **SHOW ME YOUR FEELS! How did y'all enjoy the way Sherlock presented what love meant to him? And goodness, I love their banter, and-oh, wait I've started to review my own story xD


	4. Here Beside the Fire, We Share the Glow

**The fourth and final chapter! I hope y'all enjoyed the ride as much as I did! xo**

* * *

"And for the win, asphyxiation!" Molly exclaimed proudly, placing the last scrabble tile on the board.

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief. "I'm picking Cluedo next time."

"What?" Molly smiled. "Didn't like the Murder edition of Scrabble?"

He rolled his eyes. "It was entertaining." His eyes scanned the board, looking at the words she had formed, such as poison, blunt force, and strangling. "Remind me to not anger you."

She laughed, reaching out for her glass. The bottle of brandy was half gone between the two of them. "I think we should call it a night with the brandy," she suggested, stifling a yawn.

Agreeing with her, Sherlock cleaned up their glasses and the bottle from the floor, bringing them to the kitchen counter. He'd take care of it in the morning. Molly gathered up all the Scrabble tiles, and packed the game away, placing it on John's old chair.

Her eyes followed Sherlock as he made his way to his bedroom. When he returned, he had a heavy duvet and pillows in his arms. She moved out of the way, taking the pillows from him so he could spread out duvet on the floor near the fire. The pillows were placed down next, and he went off again to retrieve a large royal blue Sherpa blanket.

"Your pyjamas are on my bed; you left them here last time you spent the night," Sherlock told her. That was when he was going through with withdrawals after the Culverton case. Molly had the patience of a saint when dealing with his moods during that period. He had felt so ashamed.

He took it upon himself to slip beneath the blanket, leaving the side closest to the fire for Molly. She was so small, and needed the extra warmth. When she returned, she joined in facing him, the fire to her back. Sherlock immediately reached out toward her, pulling her snugly against him. All those years of wondering, and now the truth was out: Sherlock Holmes was a cuddler…and she loved it.

"This is nice," she remarked, her had lying on his chest where she could hear his heart beating. She felt him press his lips to the top of her head.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked, clearly concerned.

"Mmhm," Molly mumbled, already drifting to sleep. She pressed a light kiss to his chest, speaking in a tired, small voice. "I love you."

"I love you too, darling."

* * *

When Sherlock awoke, the first thing he discovered was that Molly was wide awake, her fingers brushing his curls back with a gentle touch. Secondly, he realised the electricity was up and running again. The fire had died down, but the flat was thankfully warm.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"I did," he smiled. His senses awakened. "I smell coffee."

"Just made some—would you like a cuppa?"

"Please."

Molly slipped out of their makeshift bed and headed towards the kitchen.

"Oh," Sherlock remembered, "Don't forget—"

"Two sugars, I know," Molly laughed.

Sherlock finally managed to get up off the duvet on the floor, yawning from a long, good sleep. He walked over to the window where nearly everything was sparkling white. His phone buzzed then, lighting up on the desk. It was his parents.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, you're on speaker, dear," his mum informed him. "Your father and I were wondering how things were going."

"Things are fine," he spoke quickly. "We're safe and warm, nothing to worry about."

Sherlock's dad spoke up then. "That's good, son, but what happened with you and Molly? Did it go well?"

He could just imagine the anticipation on his mother's face, wondering if there would be a chance for grandchildren yet. The thought made him chuckle. "It all worked out, thank you. Your advice was quite helpful." Sherlock paused a moment, speaking softer to keep Molly from hearing. "And whenever this storm blows over, I believe I'll need a particular family heirloom, mummy."

The sound of her joy may or may not have warmed his heart just a little.

"We'll make sure to bring it to you," she told him. "Well, we've got to go, but stay warm!"

Molly stepped out from within the kitchen, two cups of coffee in her hands. When Sherlock's gaze landed on her, he realised she was wearing his blue dressing gown. He hadn't noticed when he first woke, but now that he had, a strange satisfaction came over him. "Here you go," she offered the cup to him. "Was that your parents?"

"Mm," he hummed as he sipped the coffee, "it was. They were just checking in." Sherlock leaned down to kiss Molly on the cheek. It was so…domestic, but he loved it. He loved her so deeply. It used to scare him at times, how much he felt he needed her, but now that he actually had it, Sherlock never wanted to be without it.

"What are you thinkin' so hard about?" Molly asked, taking a sip of her coffee. Her brown eyes were sparkling—how was that possible?

Using his free arm to wrap his arm around her, Sherlock leaned down to capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. "I think," he spoke softly in between smaller kisses, "domestic bliss suits us both." Molly smiled against his lips, happily losing herself in his affections. It did, she silently agreed, and it was better than she could have ever imagined.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alright, final impressions...what'd y'all think? I personally loved it :p


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